


To Consume and Be Consumed

by twoseas



Series: A Darkness, Sweet and Tender [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Canon-Typical Content, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Declarations Of Love, Feelings, First Kiss, Hannibal drugs Will, M/M, Mild Blood, Murder Husbands, Sort Of, Will gave him a concussion, knocking your man out and tying him up rather than just asking him to talk, mostly plot and feelings, tiny bit of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 10:45:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15387081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoseas/pseuds/twoseas
Summary: When Will finds Hannibal in Florence, it's not with the intent to kill or capture him. Instead he repays Hannibal for his trespasses in his own small way, giving Hannibal a taste of what he truly wanted in the process. Months later, Hannibal finds Will, fully intent upon returning the favor - with interest.Featuring a darker Will who may have increased his tolerance for murder, a smitten Hannibal who can't let a good thing go, Chiyoh saving the day more than once and being pretty tired of it, and surprise bondage that is neither safe nor sane, but becomes quickly and enthusiastically consensual.





	To Consume and Be Consumed

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal is one of my favorite shows ever and Hannibal/Will is one of my favorite ships, so I finally got around to writing them! This was loosely inspired by the image of Mads Mikkelsen bound to a chair in Rihanna's "Bitch Better Have My Money" and is a canon divergent AU where Will kind of accepts his more murderous side and isn't as oblivious about Hannibal's affections and feelings (or his own).  
> Love is getting off to your cannibal boyfriend giving you a blow job despite knowing full well what that mouth do. 
> 
> Please, enjoy!

Hannibal entered the apartment, leaving behind the sounds of life on the Florence street. It was quiet and still in the home he had taken. The setting sun filtered through the windows, golden and soft in a way that accentuated the colors within. Hannibal made to shrug out of his suit jacket, body stilling as he inhaled a familiar scent, chemical and harsh and painfully familiar. 

A ship on a bottle. 

Then there was dull thud, a sharp pain, and darkness. 

 

When Hannibal regained consciousness, he refused to open his eyes or tense his body. Instead he made minute motions, ascertaining what damage had been done. The back of his head throbbed painfully and a thin trickle of wetness made itself known down his scalp and neck. He was seated, arms bound to the arms of a chair, his legs to the legs. He could feel constriction around his chest, at the base of his neck, and around his shoulders. 

“You can stop pretending to be unconscious,” Will’s voice told him conversationally. “It’s been less than a minute. I’m impressed considering how hard I hit you.”

Hannibal blinked away the disorientation, clearing and focusing his vision. In front of him was Will, standing straight but casual in a dark suit and grey dress shirt. He wore no tie, the top buttons left undone to fully expose the column of his throat. His wavy hair was brushed back, soft looking and tamed. He smiled pleasantly, a genuine expression that wrinkled his eyes and animated his features. 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter.”

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal returned the greeting, voice thick and accent husky from his grogginess. He smiled back, a smaller expression than Will’s, he knew, but just as genuine. “You’ve found me.”

“You weren’t really hiding,” Will chided. 

“No,” he smirked. He took a cursory look at his restraints. Mostly duct tape, but also some sort of plastic. Will was very thorough in their application. “I suppose not.”

They eyed each other, considering all the differences in each other since their last meeting. Will looked well. Exceptionally well. Perhaps a little tired, but Will always seemed so. He looked strong and confident. Unfettered. Unburdened. A pang in Hannibal’s heart told him as much as he suspected. The Will that had fooled him, betrayed him, that wasn’t what Will was meant to become and Hannibal, who prided himself on his perception, should have seen the difference, should have recognized Will’s deception. It was obvious in the way he smiled now, in the set of his shoulders, in the tilt of his hips and the planting of his feet. This was Will as he was meant to be, free and assured. He had never looked so beautiful. 

He allowed himself a moment’s contemplation towards escape, but his restraints were well done and Will was here and speaking to him. It was enough to stay his thoughts. 

Hannibal gazed his fill and knew it wasn’t enough. It never would be. But there were other matters to consider. “Where is Bedelia?” 

Will’s soft smile disappeared, replaced with a moue of displeasure. 

“She’s alive. Asleep in your bed. It’s helpful that she came with her own drugs.” Will’s frown was quickly superseded by a playful smirk that Hannibal cherished, never having seen such an impish expression on the man’s face. It made his sculpted features and unshaven jaw roguish and tempting, a seduction in a simple quirk of lips. “Are you relieved or disappointed?”

Hannibal answered honestly. “Intrigued.”

Huffing a laugh, Will shook his head, a fond glint to his piercing, multicolored eyes. In the light diffusing through the windows, they looked more grey than blue or green. “I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed otherwise.”

“Tell me, Will,” Hannibal asked calmly, attention focused entirely on Will. “Why were those the two emotions you considered in my reaction?”

“Is this a session, Dr. Lecter?” Will gave a dry, disapproving look to his captive. 

“I am a man of curiosity,” Hannibal shrugged unapologetically, the plastic around his shoulders tightening at the movement. 

“That you are,” Will sighed, losing some of his humor. His expression turned distant, almost bitter in the twist of his features. “She’s an excellent choice in companion for you. She’s clever, clever enough to survive you this long. She’s curious like you, manipulative, with a biting wit and venomous tongue. And curiously cold in a way you’ve mimicked and adapted for yourself. A beautiful, educated, cultured woman with hidden viciousness and a healthy fear of you. I imagine you would regret the loss of such a companion.”

“Such a picture you paint of her and myself, Will,” Hannibal tsked in faux reproach, eyes dancing with joy. 

“Am I wrong?” His eyebrow came up, making it obvious that he was entirely certain of the answer and would be more than skeptical of any other. 

“No,” Hannibal admitted, as much out of honesty as a desire to humor Will. “And disappointment?”

Will’s expression turned rueful. “You always did want me to be a killer.”

“You are a killer,” Hannibal prodded. 

“More than you know,” Will tossed out in a flippant tone, ignoring Hannibal’s deliberate provocations. 

“And the plot thickens, as they say.” Hannibal’s humorous tone belied his burning curiosity. 

Will shifted his stance, hands sliding into the pockets of his well tailored trousers. “I’m being followed. Multiple parties are very interested in your capture and many of them think I’m the key.”

“And are they wrong?” Hannibal raised his own eyebrow, a clear imitation of Will. 

“No,” Will chuckled. Something dark and dangerous lurked beneath his breathy laughter. 

“Is it safe to say Jack is one of those multiple parties?” Hannibal inquired. 

“Very safe,” Will confirmed. They stared each other down, Will withholding information only long enough for Hannibal to push him with an openly anticipatory look. “In addition to those looking for the Chesapeake Ripper and the illustrious Il Mostro, there are a few interested in Hannibal Lecter for more...personal reasons.”

“And I only grow more intrigued as our time carries on,” Hannibal hummed. He was unsurprised by the news, but the way Will said it had Hannibal more invested than before. “Tell me, Will. Why would you harm anyone among those parties when your goals seem so similar?”

Will’s gaze turned distant once more, left shoulder lifting in a halfhearted shrug. “They may seem similar, but they hardly align perfectly. And some of your pursuers have a scandalous lack of manners.”

Hannibal couldn’t help the flutter in his chest as Will’s words slid through his ribs and pierced his heart. “Indeed?”

Eyes sharpening, Will threw off his ruminations with more ease than Hannibal had ever seen from the man so used to being a prisoner of his own thoughts. “Unfortunately, we’re running out of time.”

“Are we?” Hannibal kept the dismay from his voice, but only just. 

“We are,” Will confirmed, his head dropping a little. His own despondency was clear and it was a cold comfort to Hannibal. “I got here first, but I’m barely ahead. I think this may be all the time we have for conversation.”

Hannibal held Will’s eyes, prolonging their contact as much as he could. “If I saw you everyday, forever, Will, I would remember this time.”

Will pulled his hand out of his pocket, the glinting silver of a scalpel in his unshaking hand. 

Hannibal took in Will’s focused intensity. He moved his wrists, testing his bonds with little expectation. “Are you going to kill me, Will?”

Will smiled wickedly, eyes still sad but mouth promising something devilish in the bow of his lips. “No, Hannibal. I’m not.”

Will raised the scalpel to his mouth and flicked out his tongue, the action quick but tantalizing in its perverseness.

“I’m not going to kill you.” The cut to his tongue didn’t affect his speech, but it did color his mouth a rich red. He licked his lips and the uneven sheen of blood was a rouge no pigment could replicate.

As Will spoke, he moved closer. But he did not stop. No. He crawled into Hannibal’s lap, bracketing Hannibal’s thighs with his legs and filling the limited space left in the chair. 

“You’ve consumed me in every way you could,” Will murmured, tone hushed as he reached out to Hannibal’s jaw. “My work. My time. My mind. My morality. Every aspect of my life you could get your hands on. But there were things just out of your grasp, weren’t there?”

Hannibal let out a shaky breath, losing his composure bit by bit. He inhaled quickly and deeply as soon as his lungs proved capable, taking in the smell of Will. The cheap aftershave, the shampoo, the sweat and musk of him that blended in with the tang of fresh blood. It was intoxicating and Hannibal itched to touch, to grab, to claim. They were pressed so close, Will’s hips to Hannibal’s lap, chest to chest, sharing heat and pressure. His body strained against his bonds, body jolting in want. It wasn’t enough to take Will as he wanted, but it was enough to jostle the man straddling his lap.

Will laughed brightly before leaning in to brush his nose against Hannibal’s. “You’re so greedy, Hannibal,” he whispered against Hannibal’s parted lips. Hannibal could practically taste the blood now. “You can’t help it, can you?”

“Will…” 

Will’s eyes were closed, but Hannibal’s remained open. He couldn’t miss whatever this was, whatever his beautiful, daring, unpredictable Will had planned. 

“You’ve consumed so much of me. What’s this little bit more?”

Hannibal gasped into the kiss, overwhelmed by the soft pressure of Will’s lips and the burst of coppery blood against his taste buds. The kiss wasn’t shy, Will pushing his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth without hesitation. Hannibal licked and sucked and groaned at the taste, the feel, the way Will surrounded him. It was such a stark contrast to the empty months where Will was an ocean away, his absence a bitter reminder of his betrayal and Hannibal’s lost future.

Will’s tongue moved sensuously against his own, laying down the thick taste of blood in such a way that Hannibal knew he’d never forget it. Not anything about the experience. It was forever ingrained into Hannibal’s mind, every bit of sensory information filed away and placed in an eminent position within Hannibal’s mind palace. Hannibal moaned helplessly as Will slid his tongue along his palate, the tip of his tongue flickering against the back of his teeth. 

And then Will was pulling away. 

Hannibal stared helplessly. 

Will opened his eyes slowly, breathing out a shuddering gust of air. His lips were red, slick with saliva and blood. He met Hannibal’s eyes with a heartbroken, fractured look. His hand pressed a fraction harder to Hannibal’s jaw, thumb stroking along the edge of his bottom lip. 

Will pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Hannibal’s lips, a tender and intimate show of affection that had Hannibal reeling. 

“I forgive you, Hannibal,” Will breathed into the scant space between them. “Goodbye.”

When the scalpel sliced into his abdomen, Hannibal could only gasp out, the pain sharp and shocking as Will dragged the blade along the length of his gut. 

Will pushed himself off Hannibal, no longer graceful or laughing. Instead his lips trembled and tears threatened to spill over his eyes. They were more green now, Hannibal noted even as blood soaked through his ruined shirt. 

Pushing the bloodied scalpel into Hannibal’s still bound hand and using his own fingers to wrap Hannibal’s around the handle, Will sucked in a deep breath and smiled a wavering, melancholy smile. “I don’t know who’s going to get here first,” he choked out. “Good luck.”

As Will disappeared from view and the pain in his stomach flared, Hannibal tightened his grip on the scalpel. 

It was a familiar weight in his hand. 

 

Chiyoh, as it turned out, had already been there. 

 

Bandages freshly applied over his meticulously stitched wound, Hannibal was now free to speak to his lifelong friend. “You let him gut me,” Hannibal told her mildly. 

“It is a shallow wound,” Chiyoh countered. 

“That you allowed.”

“Yes.”

Hannibal hummed, feeling how much more lively his life became when Will entered it. “And how is our guest?”

“Dead.”

“By your hand?”

“Yes.” Chiyoh set a bag filled with clothes, various forms of currency, and papers and passports next to where Hannibal sat at the edge of a bed. “Will Graham played his part as well.”

“Did he?” Hannibal wanted to witness and dissect every moment of Will’s he had missed. Instead he had to make do with the recollections of others. 

“He manipulated circumstances,” Chiyoh sighed, irritated while also a little curious in her own right. “You have given him your bad habits.”

“Unapologetically so,” Hannibal acknowledged. “Anything else worth telling me?”

“He strung him up,” Chiyoh told him, blunt in her words, direct in her gaze, wonder-tinged disgust coloring her tone. “And gave him wings. He turned him into a dragonfly.”

Hannibal swallowed, unable to articulate the maelstrom of feelings churning beneath his breast. “Was it beautiful?”

“You would think so,” she confirmed. 

Hannibal lost himself in his thoughts and Chiyoh began arranging their departure. The safe house would only be safe for so long and Hannibal wondered if he would ever be able to return to Florence. He would always have his mind palace, his memories. But he had so dearly wished to show the city to Will. 

“What did you think of him?” Hannibal asked, breaking the quiet between them. 

“I think you’re bad for him,” Chiyoh said at once. 

“And what is he for me?” Hannibal gesture to the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. 

“He makes you human, Hannibal,” she said softly, with neither praise nor censure in her words. “You found the beast in the man and coaxed it out. He did the reverse.”

“You watched him,” Hannibal stated plainly. 

“I did.”

“You saw him draw the scalpel and wield the blade.” Her face remained passive, but there was something like annoyance in her eyes. She wished for him to get to the point. “Why?”

“Because he swore to me he would not kill you.” Chiyoh looked at the white bandages that covered the long, curved wound Will had inflicted upon him and the corner of her mouth lifted. “And he did not.”

Hannibal blinked, hand coming to rest over the stitched up smile that would most certainly scar. He wondered how well he and Will would match. “You were that certain he wouldn’t?”

“Yes.” Knowing that the monosyllable wouldn’t satisfy Hannibal, Chiyoh turned an assessing gaze onto the older man. She zipped up her own bag, tilting her head in consideration. “You love him.”

Hannibal didn’t speak, but he also didn’t deny it. 

“He loves you as well,” she continued. “But he is not you, Hannibal. If it brings you pleasure, you will do it. You feel no shame, no guilt for the things you do. Will Graham is a very different man. He is troubled.”

“All the more reason to suspect him of reneging on your deal not to kill me,” Hannibal supplied. 

“But he does not wish to be troubled,” Chiyoh pointed out. “You can see it, how much he wishes to be free.”

Hannibal nodded. Poor Will, haunted by his own wants and desires, torn apart by society and those who claim his friendship. Always at war with his own self. How Hannibal missed him.

Chiyoh put on a coat and hat, eyes still on Hannibal. “I knew he would not kill you not because of his promise, but because to kill you would chain you to him forever. He would be dragged down by your death. Your memory. His regrets. They would destroy him.”

“Imprisoning you would be best, in some ways. The taking of your freedom a just punishment for the man who took so much from him. But there are others who would take advantage of your capture. To hurt you, to mark you in a similar way you did him instead, that gives him some measure of peace. He did not let your trespasses go, he did not leave you unscathed. He can satisfy his hatred and his love at once.” Making for the door, Chiyoh gave him a neutral look. “I will return when it is time to leave. Be ready.”

“Of course, dear Chiyoh.”

 

Hannibal, in all his wisdom, did not forsee the immediate arrival of Mason Verger’s hired men and his being forcibly shipped back over the Atlantic. He did, however, enjoy dispatching them. And he could admit to a certain amount of pride at how far Margot had come. 

When Chiyoh found him marching through the cold, blood soaking through his clothes from Will’s re-opened wound and newer injuried inflicted by those less worthy, she barely spoke, choosing instead to lead him to her car in silence. 

Warmed by the car’s heater, wounds staunched by his own expert hands and Chiyoh’s supplies, Hannibal considered the dark, snow lined road ahead. 

“Will you take me to him?”

Chiyoh sighed, a sibilant sound almost too quiet to hear. “When you are better. And when it is safer. They will be watching him.”

Hannibal smiled through the windshield, eyes alight with the promise of a new future. 

 

**Three Months Later**

 

Will stretched his arms, cracking his joints and enjoying the slight pain of loosening muscles. He whistled once and his dogs came gamboling back towards him, tongues lolling and fur ruffled by the wind. It wasn’t Wolf Trap, the house and woods and even his stream were all different. But that’s why he chose it - someplace secluded, with the same benefits as his home, but with less memories. 

His pack stayed close on their short walk. Will entered the warmth of his house, ready to feed and water the dogs and take his customary pre-dinner drink. He wasn’t an alcoholic yet, Will thought wryly, but he sure was working on it. 

Feet up on the coffee table, dogs falling asleep on their chosen rugs and beds, Will poured his drink and settled in. Winston hopped on the couch beside him and Will gave him a few scratches. 

“What do you think, Winston? Should I take Jack up on his offer?”

Winston nudged his thigh with a wet nose, leaving a little dark imprint on his jeans. 

“Yeah,” Will laughed, harsh and without humor. “I don’t think so either. I doubt he’d even be asking if he knew the full story. He’d be shoving me right back into a cell instead.”

One hand in Winston’s fur, the other wrapped around his glass, Will took a hearty sip. 

By the second glass, Will was starting to feel drowsy, more so than he ever did after such a small amount of liquor. He was no light weight, but he felt off, eyes blurring and limbs less responsive to his commands. 

Confused, Will glanced over and noticed through his increasingly poor vision that while the fly tying supplies on his desk were untouched, the magnifying glass was tilted at just barely the wrong angle. 

“Shit,” he muttered, eyelids growing too heavy to keep open. 

 

Will awoke in his bed, groaning out his complaint as he groggily re-acquainted himself with consciousness. He paused, panic ratcheting up as he realized that his mobility was restricted, his body forced into a spread eagle position. His hands were tied to the headboard with soft rope made of a vaguely shimmering black material. His legs were similarly restrained, though the ropes seemed to loop under the bed rather than being anchored to any one point. Will wriggled and tensed against the restraints. They had some give, enough that he could move a bit, but not much. Maybe enough to keep his limbs from going numb.

“Hello, Will,” came the pleasant purr of Hannibal’s voice. 

Closing his eyes again, Will took in a deep breath, letting it out his nose slowly. “Dr. Lecter.”

Footsteps, barely noticeable, creaked against the floorboards. “You seem surprised at my appearance.”

“Maybe I’m hallucinating again,” Will considered aloud. 

“Hallucinate me often?” 

That self-satisfied, smug tone could only come from the real Hannibal. Will opened his eyes, taking in the man at the foot of his bed. Hannibal looked good. He wasn’t dressed as he used to be - no three piece suits or garish, eccentric pattern combinations. He wore a plain black motorcycle jacket, dark jeans, and a button up shirt in a rich burgundy. He looked handsome and strong. Nothing like a man on the run.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Will said in place of an answer. “They’re looking for you.”

“You’d be surprised what a motorcycle helmet and change of wardrobe can conceal,” Hannibal supplied lightly. “Worried about me, Will?”

Frowning, Will rolled his eyes and stared at the exposed beams of his ceiling. “You drugged me and tied me to my bed. I’m not all that concerned with what happens to you.”

“I had thought we were being more honest with each other,” Hannibal told him with a slight hint of a reprimand.

“Jack’s still looking for you,” Will offered, dodging the subject. “That massacre at Muskrat Farm only made him more determined. Even tried to get me in on the chase again. I’m betting Alana would be happy to see you locked up and away as well. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“I’m on several wanted lists, I am aware.” Hannibal moved to Will’s side, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under the new weight. 

“So why show up here?” Will quirked an eyebrow. “This is probably the first place they’d expect you to come.”

“Perhaps I think our last conversation deserved more time.”

Swallowing dryly, Will ignored the click in his throat and glared at the ceiling some more. 

“Is it really so shocking to think I want to see you, Will?”

Will refused to look away from the dark knot of wood just off the center of one of the beams. 

Hannibal let out a disappointed sigh before warm fingers were grasping at Will’s chin, tipping his head to force him to meet his gaze.

“You’ve been wearing your glasses again,” Hannibal frowned, a slight expression that thinned his already thin lips. “You’re refusing eye contact. You flirt with the pretty blonde woman in town. You’re playing at normality and drinking yourself into a stupor on the nights that becomes too difficult. Have you not grown past these things, Will?”

“You’ve been watching me,” Will grumbled, eyes flicking away from the forced contact. 

“I have. And I’m saddened by what I see.” Releasing his hold on Will’s face, Hannibal left the bed long enough to remove his jacket and set it aside. 

Will ground his teeth together, jaw aching. “You really shouldn’t be here,” he repeated. 

Hannibal returned to the bed, sitting even closer to Will than he had before. Hannibal’s hip and thigh pressed against Will’s side and waist, warm even through their clothes. 

“Do you want me to leave, Will?”

Will didn’t answer. 

Hannibal reached out, his hand tracing the buttons of Will’s plaid shirt. Will sucked in a breath, stomach clenching. “Do me the courtesy of answering my questions, please. Now, do you wish for me to go?” 

“No,” Will bit out. 

“Then why fight me on this?” Hannibal unbuttoned Will’s shirt, fingers sure and deliberate. He pulled at the placket of the shirt, revealing the worn grey of Will’s undershirt. “Why claim your power all those months ago only to toss it away?”

“You’re going to destroy me,” Will told him, closing his eyes in an attempt to ignore the caress of Hannibal’s palm. His hand was laid flat over Will’s heart, no doubt feeling the frantic beating. 

“Does this feel like destruction, dearest Will?”

His palm stroked downward, stilling only once he reached Will’s stomach. Will breathed out shakily, Hannibal’s hot touch over his scar leaving him panicked and aroused with traces of smouldering anger. 

“More than anything.”

Hannibal smiled when Will finally looked at him, affection clear in the slight crinkle of his eyes, the light lift of his lips. “I’ve missed you terribly, Will. Have you missed me?”

Will swallowed, a desperate gulp, but he didn’t break the other’s gaze. “Yes.”

Hannibal’s hand moved, exploratory. He traced the length of the scar he left, Will’s thin t-shirt the only thing separating them. “Do you wish you had gone with me when I asked?”

Licking his lips, Will thought of his answer, the feelings behind it too complex and messy to articulate. “Yes. And no.”

Hannibal’s hand paused and his eyebrow lifted in question. 

“It would’ve ruined me more than what you did that day,” Will confessed. “Leaving with you. Even if...even with Abigail.”

Blinking, Hannibal pulled away, hand coming to rest against his own bent knee. Will regretted the loss even though he was thankful for it. “Why do you think this, Will?”

“Because I was still a toy to you,” Will confessed, eyes watering. “You wanted to see what I would do, how you could play me. Pulling my strings, turning my gears, testing me. It was all a game, no matter how invested in it you became. And when playing family with me, when watching what I became grew too boring or risky, you’d get rid of me. One way or another. You’d kill me, frame me, take Abigail and leave me behind. The result would be the same - me in ruins, you in search of your next great amusement. It’s worse to have something and have it taken away than to never have it at all.”

“Will.”

Laughing almost manically at the scolding tone Hannibal wrapped around his name, Will sucked in a great breath and tugged a little on his restraints. “I was pretty replaceable, wasn’t I?”

“Darling Will.” Hannibal stroked his thumb over Will’s cheekbone. “You were once so certain you had changed me, but now you deny it.”

His touch moved down, hand coming to clasp Will’s neck. “What you say was once true. I do not admit to this lightly. But you forget the lesson your absences have taught me.”

Leaning in, breath ghosting hot and damp over Will’s face, Hannibal kissed him. It was slow, tender. A short kiss that was a calm facade for the press of emotion building in both men. 

Will gasped out Hannibal’s name as the other man leaned back. 

“Ask me, Will. Ask the question that’s been burning at the back of your mind since you awoke and heard my voice,” Hannibal demanded, fingers finding their way into Will’s hair. 

“Are you going to kill me, Hannibal?”

“No, Will. I am not.”

In a quick, predatory motion that had the bed shaking, Hannibal was on top of Will. One hand tugging at Will’s hair, the other pressed possessively over Will’s stomach, Hannibal dived in for a kiss that was deep and desperate, emotion bubbling over into physical action. He pulled away, Will chasing his lips and straining against the ropes wrapped around his wrists. They were only separated long enough for Hannibal to stare Will in the face, eyes blown black and lips curled in a lustful snarl. And then those lips were back on Will’s, crooked, sharp teeth biting at his bottom lip, threatening to break the skin. Hannibal’s legs moved, the larger man straddling one of Will’s thighs and pressing his knee against his crotch. Will moaned weakly at the pressure and friction, more than half hard already. 

“You were right, Will. I am a greedy man,” Hannibal breathed, mouth nipping and sucking under Will’s jaw. Sharp bites and tender kisses trailed their way down Will’s neck until a bite hard enough to break skin had Will shouting out a cry. “If you think the single taste you gave me back in Florence was enough, then you underestimate just how greedy I can be.”

Hannibal sat up on his knees, hair falling artfully across his forehead as he licked his lips and stared Will down. He reached behind himself and grabbed a knife. A spike of adrenaline, fear and arousal mixing together, shot through Will. It was one of Will’s own hunting knives, unsheathed and shining in the light. 

With a flash of steel and the zip of ripping fabric, Hannibal had the front of Will’s t-shirt completely torn. He carelessly threw the knife aside, the blade skidding to a halt across the wood of Will’s bedside table. 

Will panted as Hannibal dived back down, mouth tasting the newly exposed skin of Will’s chest and stomach. He stopped once he reached the smile across Will’s belly, hands taking over the task of exploring Will. His fingers brushed across the scarred skin, deep amber eyes staring at the mark with the intensity of an artist scrutinizing his own work. 

Which, Will supposed through the haze of arousal and trepidation, was essentially what he was. 

“We don’t match entirely,” Hannibal breathed against Will’s stomach, lips kissing a delicate line across the decidedly not delicate gnarl of scar tissue. “You didn’t cut me deep enough.”

Will nodded, his head digging into the pillow beneath it. “I didn’t want to.”

“No,” Hannibal mused. “My mark was given out of anger and hurt. Yours out of love.”

Without further ado, Hannibal undid the fly of Will’s jeans and tugged - hard and with unceremonious haste. 

“Hannibal!”

Jeans pulled down as far as Will’s restraints allowed, Hannibal returned to his perusal of Will’s increasingly bared body. He still had his briefs, but they were a poor barrier, Will’s hard on obviously stretching the fabric, a growing damp spot at the tip. 

“You defy all expectation, Will,” Hannibal muttered, voice thick and rumbling as he inhaled deeply. Fingers curled at the waistband of Will’s briefs and soon they were tugged down, made to join his bunched jeans. 

Will squirmed at the attention, chest heaving and limbs tingling. 

“To consume you will be a great honor,” Hannibal declared. “And a unique delight.”

Whimpering as Hannibal’s tongue licked a hot stripe from the base of his cock to the head, Will threw his head back and arched against the sensation. Hannibal was no tease, not at the moment, mouth fully enveloping Will’s cock and sucking unrelentingly. Will was close, closer than he expected to be so soon. But it was Hannibal’s hand fondling his balls, Hannibal’s lips wrapped obscenely around him, Hannibal’s mouth and throat taking in Will’s cock, Hannibal’s tongue tracing the veins that ran up and down his shaft. It was  _ Hannibal  _ and Will could barely restrain himself, thrashing against the ropes that bound him. 

“I-I’m-” was all the warning Will could provide before he was coming, orgasm sweeping him in a wash of static white and screaming sensation. He might have shouted Hannibal’s name, but the blood was pounding in his ears too loudly for him to be sure. 

Hannibal swallowed around him and pulled off. A bit of cum escaped from the corner of his mouth and he wiped at it with a sweep of his thumb before sucking off the last trace of Will’s release. 

Will’s limbs were heavy, his eyes half lidded as his body rode out the waves of pleasure. Hannibal loomed over him and gripped his chin, pulling him in for a filthy kiss. He allowed his mouth to be used by Hannibal’s lips and teeth and tongue, tasting himself and finding that he didn’t mind. There was a metallic zip and the rustle of denim and then Hannibal was kneeling above him, one hand digging into the pillow by Will’s head, the other pumping his own painfully hard erection. He came with a growling grunt and painted Will’s chest and stomach with streaks of white. Inhaling deep, shuddering breaths, Hannibal rolled to Will’s side and somehow there was enough space for him, even with Will splayed out and tied down. 

Will closed his eyes and just allowed himself to breathe. 

When the mattress rocked, Will opened his eyes to observe what would happen next. Hannibal put himself to rights, tucking in his softened cock. Then he took steady steps into Will’s bathroom with a comfortability that Will normally associated with familiarity, as if he had been there a hundred times before. He returned with tissues, giving Will a look. 

“You have no clean washcloths,” he admonished even as he cleaned Will up, his gaze lingering overlong on the places where his seed stained Will’s skin. 

“Laundry day is tomorrow,” Will snorted, mind spinning at the conflicting images, events, and feelings the situation garnered. 

Hannibal regarded him fondly, a flash of playfulness entering his eyes. “I’m going to untie you now. I would appreciate it if you would leave knives, scalpels, and other edged weapons for another time.”

Will couldn’t help himself from laughing. “You’re the one who shredded my shirt with my hunting knife.”

“Hardly a loss,” he countered lightly, reaching for Will’s wrists.

“I liked that shirt, came in a package with two others just like it,” Will teased. 

Hannibal’s response was an exasperated thinning of his lips, the expression softening as he freed Will’s arms and rubbed at his wrists. The material was soft and Will hadn’t been tied up long enough or tightly enough for much discomfort, but the gesture was shockingly sweet and had Will gulping. Soon his legs were freed as well and he was pulling his own pants back up, ignoring the disappointed downturn of Hannibal’s mouth. 

Sighing, Will sat up and ran a hand through his sweaty, mussed hair. He must’ve looked a mess, shirt torn right down the middle, hair frizzy and tangled, and his general unkemptness augmented by the activities. 

Hannibal sat back down at the edge of the bed and watched, waiting for Will to say whatever it was that simmered in his always overactive mind. 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Will looked at Hannibal and gave him a vulnerable smile. “I don’t know what to do when we’re not trying to hurt each other.”

“What would you like us to do?”

Will rolled his eyes and scoffed at the question. “Please, no therapy in the bedroom.”

“I genuinely wish to know,” Hannibal corrected gently. “This situation is without precedence, as we are both fully aware.”

“What did you have planned for after you drugged me and tied me up?” Will asked dryly. 

Hannibal leered, as much as Hannibal could leer, the edges of his mouth curling. 

“After that,” Will responded at once, face flushing. Hannibal sobered.

“I wish to extend an offer.” Hannibal spoke slowly, each word given care and consideration. “An invitation of sorts.”

“You want me to come with you,” Will surmised, heart fluttering even as doubt and denial trickled into his mind. 

Hannibal took Will’s calloused hand in both of his. “I do not wish to be without you, Will. You call yourself replaceable, but I know better now than ever before how untrue that is. I will not grow bored of our time together or of watching what you become. I will not find a substitute for you, for your space within my heart, mind, and soul are entirely your own. You have carved a place within me that is yours, inextricably yours.”

Will licked his lips and found himself on the brink of tears. When he spoke, his voice was a trembling rasp. “I have my dogs. You can’t stay in the country.”

“Arrangements can be made with money, of which I have plenty, and a little time, of which I have enough for this, I believe.” Hannibal squeezed Will’s hand, his tone serious and completely earnest in a way that had Will in near disbelief. “I have a safe place to stay for now and I can make the necessary calls. You need only say the word.”

Will was tempted - so tempted. He knew exactly what Hannibal’s offer meant. There would be blood, people slaughtered and carved at Hannibal’s whims and fancy, their bodies turned into the most beautifully gruesome art. There would be death and destruction. Will would become a part of it, Hannibal guiding Will through their most monstrous tendencies. Every dark fantasy, every bloody thought, that righteous, violent, coiling beast within him would be nurtured and loved, persuaded to rear its head at every opportunity. There would be no going back. No saying sorry to Jack and Alana. No forgiveness. No more chances. 

Will looked up and met Hannibal’s heavy gaze. 

Hannibal could see the fear, the doubt, the way Will’s flexible morality bent and twisted and threatened to snap as it fitted itself to his longing, his wants, his desires. He could see it and he spoke softly, a hand coming up to gently cup Will’s cheek as he came as close to begging as Hannibal Lecter ever could. “Come with me.”

Will held Hannibal’s gaze and spoke words more honest and true and hopeful than when he first said them. “Where else would I go?”

Hannibal’s smile was radiant and full of promises both dark and beautiful. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Will declaring his affections: Bash him in the head, throw his unconscious form in a chair, tie him up with lots of tape. A little kiss to make it better, but then some slashing with a dose of abandonment to remind him what a dickbag he's been  
> Hannibal declaring his love: Nothing but the finest roofies and silk rope for my Will


End file.
